A New Day
by QueenOfPromise
Summary: It's seven years since the war ended and Hermione is happily working as a healer at St Mungo's. What she doesn't realise is that a suspected splinching incident is about to change her life in ways she could never of imagined. Dramione. Rated M for a Reason.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**AN: This story has been sitting on my laptop for over a year now and I decided it was finally time to post it. For anyone reading Paperweight, that is my first priority and this story will be updated afterwards, just to clear upany questions. So read and (hopefully) review! Let me know what you think. Big love! xx**

"Granger you're need on the fourth floor, room 202. Splinching incident by the look of it."

Hermione's head snapped up and she nodded to the back of the lime green robes that were hurrying around the corner. Taking a deep breath she made her way quickly for the rickety old elevator and strode in, smiling kindly to the healer-in-training beside her who was twitching nervously.

With a loud ding, the elevator stopped at the fourth floor and all the occupants filed out, scattering as they walked hurriedly to their needed location. Confidently, Hermione strode towards room 202, splinching incidents were something she has become very accustomed to in the year since she had achieved her full qualification as a healer.

Everyone, including herself, was surprised at her decision to go into medicine. It was no secret that Hermione Granger had had Ministry ambitions since the day she stepped foot into Hogwarts. But after the war, things changed. There were enough witches and wizards who had devoted their lives to arguing policies and protecting the magical community and look where that had gotten everyone. So Hermione had decided, her talents were better suited elsewhere and here she was, hesitating outside of room 202 as a strange sensation washed over her

The first thing she was aware of when she pushed the door open was the nauseating smell that permeated the entire room. In an instant, images of stirring a cauldron inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and the night Mad Eye Moody was killed filled her head.

_Polyjuice Potion_ she thought to herself as she crossed over to the bed, picking up the patients charts. "Unknown male. Approximately 31 years of age. Brown hair." She blinked several times, trying to dispel the heaviness that settled over her eyes so close to the end of her 12 hour shift. "Suspected splinching injury located on inner left forearm."

Replacing the chart she moved closer to the bed, pushing back the sheets to reveal a heavily blood stained bandage on the hairy arm. Cringing, she cast a _Scourgify_ charm, cleansing the arm and the material of blood before she gingerly unwound the makeshift bandage. Frowning to herself she peered at the wound, brow furrowed in confusion. Although splinching injuries presented themselves in many and varied ways, this wound was unlike any other she had ever seen. It was almost as if someone had peeled back layer and layer of the skin and left a rectangular scar, covered in blood and pus behind.

Suddenly the skin began to bubble under her hands and she lept back, startled as the thick, hairy arm began to transform into a thin, pale arm, the skin almost milky white under the harsh glow of the overhead lights. Her eyes flickered to the patients face for the first time she had entered the room. Brown hair was quickly turning blond and with every second a year seemed to be shaved of the person's age until he was left looking no older than her, pale and silent on the rough hospital sheets.

A deep groan rumbled from the patient's chest, his head shifting from side to side on the pillow as he began to stir, the effects of the calming potion that had been administered wearing off. The sunken eyes flickered opened and a single gasp escaped her throat as blue-grey eyes locked straight onto chocolate brown.

* * *

Hermione barely made it into the ward's bathroom before the meal she'd wolfed down several hours earlier made an unwelcome reappearance. She couldn't hear anything else over the sound of her blood pounding in her ears as she clutched the toilet with trembling hands. Taking deep calming breaths, she felt the world around her slowly coming back into focus and the first thing she was aware of was the moaning coming from the patient only a few yards away from where she was crouched.

Standing up shakily, she washed her hands and smoothed her hair before rinsing her mouth out with water. A quick toss of her hair and she was striding back onto the ward, all traces of her internal struggle invisible.

The man was in a bad way, muttering nonsense and tossing and turning in the sweat drenched sheets. His fever was spiking and she knew her first port of call was to cool him down. She bustled around the room, locating the appropriate equipment and working on stopping his temperature from rising any higher. Once it had lowered slightly she set to work on bathing the wound, her stomach churning as the injured man screamed in pain, tears rolling down his deathly pale cheeks.

Half an hour later and the wound had been cleaned thoroughly and dressed in a sterile dressing. The patient was now lying motionless, staring at the tiles on the ceiling, not having uttered a word since the moment he regained consciousness. Hermione gently told him that they were going to have to admit him and keep him under observation for several days and run some tests.

The sheer panic in his eyes unnerved her and she nearly feel to her knees when his hand shot out to catch hers, freezing cold and trembling uncontrollably. "The potion bottle," he rasped. "I need it… please."

She withdrew her hand "I'm sorry, sir I can't allow –"

"Hermione, please."

The Earth shifted slightly off centre when he said her name. It had been so many years since she'd seen his face or heard his voice in person. But he was in her dreams almost every night. Looking young, pale and scared as he made his way towards Voldemort in the middle of the battle. The terror in his eyes had haunted her almost as much as the death of her loved ones. It was something she could never forget.

Maybe that was why she pulled the foul smelling potion off of the trolley beside her and raised it to his cracked lips. Maybe that was why she watched in fascinated horror as the man lying in front of her transformed from the broken shell of her former classmate to the broken shell of a stranger she'd never seen before in her life. She'd probably never know

Once the transformation was complete the now-hazel eyes locked with hers for a split second before fluttering shut in exhaustion.

The man in front of her- Polyjuice potion or not- was no longer a former classmate or death eater, nor the bully he once was. He was a deathly ill stranger, a stranger she'd sworn an oath to heal and protect from further harm to the best of her ability.

He was her patient and she was his healer.


End file.
